


As You Lay Sleeping

by MianMimi



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Past Child Abuse, Soulmates, canon character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MianMimi/pseuds/MianMimi
Summary: Stephen is tortured mercilessly at night, trapped inside his own nightmares by a wrathful entity. Mordo goes into the nightmare dimension to make a bargain of his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hurt/comfort; Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange; slash; violence; canon character death; poor misuse of established lore. I guess there should also be a warning for this being written during ungodly hours of the night with no beta and a broken keyboard, I apologize in advance.

There wasn’t much pageantry when Mordo accepted the role of Sorcerer Supreme. The ceremony was somber and quick, with a mercifully small audience comprised of masters eager to pass the immense responsibility to someone else.

Mordo instantly regretted it. 

The evolution from master to the Sorcerer Supreme was a tumultuous one that seemed to worsen with time. There was barely any chance for him to meditate or study in peace, often finding himself in the middle of settling interdimensional conflicts or putting out various proverbial fires before anyone else even smelled the smoke. 

The battles in every plane of existence, the constant knowledge that another entity would try and capture earth, the looming threat of their society being exposed, the personal squabbles amongst the masters, the infuriating absence of a certain sorcerer...and all of it was sinking him deeper into absolute exhaustion. 

Sorcerer Supremes do not tire. Mordo held onto that thought like a mantra, repeating it whenever he was tempted to take a break. 

And for being an overworked, unrested, leader he hid his weakness rather well. He appeared as he always had, serious, focused, formidable. His patience remained intact even in the midst of the pettiest conflicts rising from the daily upkeep of their order. 

He took the time, when the rare occasion presented itself, to continue teaching the students. He wondered how the others compared him to the Ancient One, wondered if they missed her as much as he did. 

The pain of her betrayal was still fresh, haunting him when his thoughts wandered into the past. But in spite of her lies he still couldn’t bring himself to reject her teachings completely. Perhaps it’s why he agreed to take her place. 

It was a chance to reform their order, to start anew without deception and compromise. And he was grateful that for the most part, all the masters thus far supported his decisions.

Well, almost all.

“Watch the tea! Watch the tea! You’ll ruin the book!””

Mordo looked down to see his tea nearly spilling from cup. He snapped from his musings and put the kettle aside.

“Distracted?” Wong said as he swiped the nearby books away from the overflowing cup. 

“No.”

“Rhetorical question.” The librarian resumed his work, writing down lists of books that needed to be resorted. He expertly avoided meeting Mordo’s irritated gaze.

“Some trouble with the good doctor I presume?” 

“It’s not always about Stephen.”

Wong smiled and shook his head.

“When you’re this distracted it’s always about Stephen.”

There wasn’t enough energy left in Mordo to admit his friend was right. But he had plenty of energy to unleash a level of frustration even Wong was unprepared for. 

“That man shows no regard for our ways.”

Wong pulled up a chair to sit directly across from Mordo. He had seen the new Supreme this upset only a handful of times. He was able to recall each one clearly and he knew that it would take a good measure of patience to being Mordo back to his usual calm. 

“He refuses to attend meetings with his fellow masters. He questions my decisions regarding new trainees. He dares question some of our older policies. He blatantly practices forbidden arts when he thinks I haven’t noticed,” Mordo gulped the tea down and slammed the cup on the table, “And he hasn’t even spoken to me face to face since the ceremony.”

“The solution seems to be rather obvious then--”

“Does he think that wielding the Eye gives him license to disregard me as his new leader?If this is his way of rebelling he should try harder! Does he think he can ascend quickly through the ranks without bearing the responsibilities that come with it? And yet he still fancies himself the guardian of the New York Sanctum, something I’m still mulling over. If he can’t fulfill his duties maybe he shouldn’t even be master.”

“Granting him that title was one of the last things the Ancient one did before she passed. Would you undo that?”

“The option is viable,” Mordo said, though his voice softened. “But it isn’t one I want to take.”

“Out of sentiment for her? Or something else?”

“She believed him worthy of the title. I would still uphold that decision if Stephen wasn’t trying so hard to force me to think otherwise.”

“Well if your goal was to assert your authority as Sorcerer Supreme, you should start now. Nip it in the bud as they say. Though at this point the doctor is more like a thistle than a rose.”

“One of his many qualities.” 

Had his thoughts of Stephen not distracted him, he would have seen Wong looking at him with pity.

“Forgive my honesty Sorcerer Supreme,” Wong said with a gentleness reserved for very few. “But I can’t help but feel this emotional turmoil is self-inflicted.”

Mordo gave no response except to stare at the librarian with a steeled gaze. 

“You brought him here into our world. A dangerous gamble to say the least. Surely there was reason.”

Indeed there was. Many in fact, though Mordo refused to reflect on them all at the moment. 

“I saw potential,” He finally replied.

“He proved you right,” Wong smiled. “He learned at an alarming rate. Fought valiantly against the zealots. And he certainly exceeded expectations when he saved the world. Do you recall that?”

“By abusing the Eye, manipulating time and sentencing himself to endless torture.”

“Not unlike what you’re doing to yourself I imagine. The endless torture bit. Everytime you avoid speaking directly to Strange about your problems, it’s having the same effect as being trapped in a time loop. At least it feels that way for anyone who witnesses it.”

Mordo’s eyes darkened. Perhaps he wasn’t as careful as he thought.

“You know deep within that he did the right thing. As difficult as it is to accept he saved us all with that infinity stone.”

“It’s sheer stupidity to use the Eye without proper discipline. Even the Ancient One herself did not use it so brazenly. And to even think that Dormammu would honor any bargain with a mortal is lunacity.”

“His lunacity has kept us all alive thus far,” Wong replied. “And as they say there’s a fine line between genius and insanity.”

“And an even finer line between being a hero and being dead.”

“We should glad he didn’t end up being both, and that he ended up being right.”

Right. Wrong. All of it was tossed in the air. 

Mordo hated questioning things constantly. His viewpoint of the world was forged by hardship unknown to any soul alive. He intended to keep it that way, sealing his weaknesses and fears tightly within an armored heart. There was anger there, and through the years it had blossomed into wrath and vengeance and sorrow. Through much pain he crawled from a place of darkness to the light of Kamar Taj. Years under the Ancient One’s teachings soothed him, easing the edge of his rage and shaping him into someone with direction and purpose. 

He at last, found stability. Clear lines, rules, and boundaries, those were the structures he held up. It was the frame of which his existence stood.

And Stephen’s choices, actions, and most of all his questions...all of it was tantamount to someone kicking that structure from under him. It made Mordo question as well, not just his moral stance but also the state of his own emotions.

And Mordo didn’t like to feel emotion before he decided he could feel them. 

But with Stephen his reactions were instant, the feelings unfiltered. Mordo didn’t know what to make of it except to decide he didn’t like how vulnerable it made him feel. How his patience and calm resolve could break so easily. How his ability to be firmly planted on solid ground suddenly disappeared in Stephen’s presence. How--

“Between you and me I think the doctor is winning.”

Mordo returned his thoughts to the present.

“What are you getting at?”

“Oh? My apologies. The masters, students, and everyone under the sun think you and Stephen are trying to see who could unhinge the other one faster. I have to say the passive aggression is very tiring and slows down the game don’t you think?”

“I’m not one to indulge in games.” Mordo said, his voice curt and low, the kind of tone he gave when he wanted a conversation to end.

Wong paid it no mind and continued. 

“You would for Stephen. That is to say, you’re both so competitive I’m certain you’d accept any challenge just to prove a point.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Wong waited for a small group of students to pass out of earshot before continuing. There was no need to encourage rumors, especially when they were already rampant.

“You know for someone who guards the infinity stone of time...you don’t value time very much. You waste too much of it.”

Before Mordo could retort he found his hands full of various books that Wong conjured before them. 

“The good doctor wanted to read these but there was a wait list. I guaranteed he would have them by tonight, delivered in person.”

The Sorcerer Supreme stared at the books, then back at Wong, part of him irritated that he was being ordered to function as a delivery. Yet another part was considering if this could be the opportunity he sought. 

“Bring them to him,” Wong said, his own patience quickly waning at his friend’s stubbornness. “I find that a good book often quells his otherwise abrasive personality long enough to have a decent conversation with the man.”

“I don’t need a peace offering to speak with Stephen.”

“Ah, then why haven’t you done so?” He patted Mordo on the shoulder, smiling at his Supreme’s embarrassment. He took Mordo’s silence as his cue and ran off, prompting yelling at a poor student who accidentally forgot to return a book to its proper place. 

Mordo stared at the books, disappointed that none of them were about proper decorum or the traditions of their order. Stephen could definitely benefit from those. Instead it seemed that dream interpretations and sleeping curses were of sudden fascination to him. He gripped the books tightly beneath an arm and proceeded to the courtyard. 

The sky was cloudy, yet even then the sun illuminated the world in a haze of smoky yellow. While it was high noon in Kamar Taj, it was barely a quarter past one o’clock in the morning in New York. Stephen would most likely be fast asleep. 

Something about that fact pushed him to make up his mind.

“To hell with that.”

He opened a portal, envisioning the New York Sanctum as clearly as he could remember. 

If Stephen had no consideration for ettique, then why should he? 

Mordo stepped through the golden halo without further hesitation. He would deliver the books alright, in addition to leaving some stern words about Stephen’s behavior. He’d set firm expectations and consequences, no compromises this time, then leave despite any objections the doctor might have.

____________________

 

The light of the sun was instantly replaced by darkness. The clamor of students training in the courtyard ceased. A deafening silence wrapped around him. The unmistakable staircase of the Sanctum was before him, their grand steps speckled with glimpses of pale moonlight. An unnatural chill settled around him, thickening into curtain of cold. The place felt oddly hollow, devoid of life and energy. The hand that bore his sling ring tightened into a fist. 

The New York sanctum’s relics were infamously restless to those in tune with their magical energies. Even in the most uneventful nights the air was teeming with their energy, mixing and mingling in an odd, chaotic, communal song. But now they were silenced. The atmosphere heavy and unfeeling.

It unnerved Mordo for a moment. Just a moment. Then his thoughts returned why he came in the first place. The thought of Stephen pushed him forward again. 

“This is ridiculous,” Mordo shook his head. Stubbornness won out as he made his way up the stairs.

There was no need to feel nervous. This was surely Stephen’s work. He must have found a way to silence the relics. 

A rather impressive feat to say the least.

Stephen had that quality about him. His intellect was unmatched, much like the ego he had when Mordo found him. Head-strong determination seemed to make up his bones. Curiosity, the substance in his veins. His thirst for knowledge and excellence, insatiable. His eagerness to learn and ability to suffer, admirable. 

As Mordo made his way through the corridor he felt his steps grow heavier, slower as he approached the doctor’s private chamber. His grip on the books loosened a bit. He was surprised his hands were sweating this much, as if opening that door and confronting Stephen would result in something more akin to a fight than a talk. He wasn’t sure anymore which he would prefer. 

He stood there before the door, staring at it for a torturous minute. 

The books in his hands kept slipping despite his tightening hold. There were times he saw his life as an unfinished book. Most of the chapters were filled with pain he never wanted to visit again. Other chapters were kinder, hopeful, though few and far in between. Now with his new responsibilities he found himself dividing that book into two sections, before and after he was given the title of Supreme. Which oddly enough, coincided with his life before and after Stephen Strange. 

He knocked on the door, deciding against barging in lest he see the doctor in an indecent manner. 

The answer didn’t come from within the chamber. Nor did it come from Strange at all. 

It came in the form of a frantic, flailing Cloak. 

“What is thi--” Mordo jumped as the Cloak spun around him. It’s edges sharpened, jabbing at the air towards the other end of the hall. Had the Cloak been able to speak it would be screaming. 

“What is happening here? Where is your master?”

The Cloak’s collar flared, it’s shoulders flying and shaking in frustration. Humans moved much too slow. 

It flung itself on Mordo’s shoulders, clasped tightly around his neck, and hoisted the sorcerer into the air. His boots sparked yellow at the heels, trying to bring their master back to the ground. The Cloak swatted them furiously, all the while dragging the Sorcerer Supreme through the winding corridors. 

“Enough!” 

The Cloak, to Mordo’s surprise, obeyed. The relic kept him in quiet, merciful suspension, but only for a moment. 

A long, wailing scream pierced the air. 

“Stephen.” 

A strong, surge of energy rippled through the Cloak. Mordo could feel the sentience wrapped in each thread. The relic was afraid. 

And there was very little that could get in the way of a terrified relic. 

The Cloak all but catapulted Mordo through the winding halls, up another flight of stairs, and into the library. 

The relic unfastened itself from the Supreme’s shoulders, shaking him out and shoving him towards the fallen figure. 

“Stephen!”

Mordo stumbled forward, knelt down, and reached out to take the screaming doctor into his arms. Cold, damp, salty sweat drenched Stephen’s clothes. His face was contorted and pale. His eyes, once so bright and defiant were sealed shut. His hands shook terribly, grasping the air for something unseen, something he desperately wanted to reach. 

“Stephen!” Mordo supported his head, brushing the unkempt hair from the doctor’s face. His fingers swept along Stephen’s cheek. Tears slipped from those once defiant eyes, their flow slow, heavy, and hot with pain. 

“Stop...no...no!” The doctor’s words were weak, his voice pathetic as he begged. He sounded much younger than he was, frightened and vulnerable. 

“It’s me. You’re safe,” Mordo said, cupping Stephen’s face, “It’s me. Open your eyes!”

“Scared...I...no. Please. Please. No. No!” 

“You have to wake up. You hear me? You need to wake up!” Mordo brought their faces closer, yelling at the doctor. It was then that he realized, his heart gripped with dread, that Stephen’s breath was cold. 

“Wake up! Goddamnit Strange, wake up!”

Desperate and afraid, Mordo smashed their lips together and bit hard.

A loud, sudden gasp came next, akin to a drowning man meeting air again. Stephen’s chest heaved, his breaths labored and fast. Mordo felt Stephen’s pulse pounding frantically against his own. 

“You’re okay.”

Stephen’s eyes were wide, staring at him alarmed. There was confusion written all over the doctor’s tear stained face, as if he was trying to recall who held him. . 

“Are you--are you real?” 

Shaking fingers pressed against Mordo’s chest

“Yes,” Mordo replied. “After I--”

Stephen hissed, touching his bruised lips.

“After I did that.”

“What exactly did you do?” Stephen asked, his tone sharper, more annoyed than pained from the cut, “Elicit pain to wake me? Did you really have to bite?”

For once Mordo welcomed the doctor’s attitude. 

“My apologies. I’ll remember to be gentle next time I need to save you.”

He immediately wanted to take the words back. Thankfully Stephen seemed too preoccupied to have heard it. 

The doctor tried foolishly to raise from the floor only to stumble again. The Cloak, who was hovering over them the entire time, floated down to catch its master. 

“Wait. What are you doing?”

“You’re coming back with me,” Mordo said as he lifted Stephen onto the Cloak. “This was no ordinary nightmare.”

“No. I got this,” Stephen’s breath hitched when Mordo moved him. His sweat-stained shirt slipped away, revealing scars and bruises both old and fresh upon his skin. 

“Your injuries say otherwise. And this is not a discussion,” Mordo said. His anger returned, though this time it wasn’t directed at Stephen, but at whatever left those marks there.

“But the Sanctum-”

“Will be safe.I’ll send for another master to attend to your duties while you recover.”

“Karl. Please. I can’t,” Stephen closed his eyes, trying to keep his tears from falling again, “I can’t be replaced. This is all I have.”

Mordo shook his head. He touched Stephen’s face, his chest tight and heavy at the fear radiating from those blue eyes. 

“You have more than you know. Just put that pride aside and let me help you.”

The doctor, exhausted and afraid of being thrown out yet again, could not hold back his tears any longer. It was a pathetic, pitiful sight. The sobs wrecked him, each one revealing more of the weary soul hidden beneath his crumbling pride. As powerful and talented as he may be, there was still so much of him that remained broken. 

“You’re not meant to suffer alone. I am your Sorcerer Supreme. I won’t allow it.”

The darkness fell away as Mordo conjured a portal before them. The Cloak wrapped itself around its master, cradling him carefully. To Mordo’s surprise the relic brought Stephen up into his arms, allowing him to carry the tearful doctor. With one arm on the doctor’s back and the other beneath his legs, Mordo stepped through the portal, bring them both to the safety of Kamar Taj.

A/N: Initially intended as a one shot but it’s proving to be a longer than I anticipated. One more chapter to go. Grammar also isn’t a big strength of mine so...I’m very sorry ;__;

A/N update: This will be a four chapter fic now @___@ Turned out way longer than I planned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of Doctor Strange lore is solely based around the MCU. Aka….I made a lot of stuff up @__@ Hope it makes sense for something that was thought up at 3am. I don't even know anymore. Let me know.

Three sleepless nights passed since Mordo crossed the portal with Stephen in his arms. And in those three nights a universal truth came to light, a true surge of enlightenment as many called it. And that was the fact that doctors do, without a shred of doubt, make the worst patients.

“Give him some credit. It isn’t very fun having strangers appear every hour to poke, prod, and examine you every which way short of dissection.”

“He doesn’t need to make it harder by telling them how to help him,” Mordo replied. “And in their areas of expertise no less.”

Wong sighed, waving his hands to replenish the refreshments. With the revolving door of masters and mystics coming in to examine Stephen he felt less like a distinguished librarian and more like a host. A very apologetic host who had to appease his colleagues whenever they finished with Strange. The visits were terribly brief, either because the doctor yelled at them to get out or they left on their own accord due to his grand inability to be directed. 

They’d seen his disrespectful, cynical, condescending side before. It was more evident back when he was freshly picked off the streets of Kathmandu. Mercifully his arrogance eased over time into something more tolerable, thanks to the Ancient One’s watchful guidance. But now the doctor’s suffocating need to control every aspect of his care was back with an alarming, relentless fury. 

“He’s driven them all away,” Mordo said. He rubbed his temples though it did little for the ache, “Insufferable has become a very common way to describe him as of late.”

“Traumatized,” Wong said, his tone carried a sense of correction. “He might try to disguise it with that arrogance but he's nothing short of traumatized.”

Wong glanced towards the direction Stephen was currently held. The classic sternness remained on his face, though it seemed to Mordo that his friend’s annoyance was directed towards the other masters rather than Stephen.

“It surprises me how lenient you’ve been towards Stephen’s condition.”

“After what that brave fool went through to save every soul here? He’s earned it. And it’s a striking pity that the other masters do not feel the same. Friendship is too much to ask for perhaps. But they could spare him some empathy. Even just a sliver of it.”

Wong shrugged and returned to his work. He poured a mix of bitter herbs into a cup, mumbling a quick spell over it til the scent turned sweet.

“But I’m just the head librarian. Throwing ideas into the wind. Perhaps you should focus on other things for now. There’s more than one Sanctum and one master after all.”

“But there’s only one master acting like a fool.”

“Oh last time I checked there were two,” Wong handed the fresh cup to Mordo, “And the biggest one needs to take a break.”

Mordo lifted the tea closer to his face. The aroma was reminiscent of warm cinnamon.

“Relax.There’s nothing exciting in it. Just a small concoction for anxiety.”

“For Stephen?”

“For you!” Wong laughed, “Look at you. I haven’t seen you this haggard since the first time you arrived here. You need to learn to accept help as well. For your own sake. Lead by example. Perhaps the doctor will take note and follow your lead.”

“If he notices,” Mordo said. He took a small sip of the tea. Wong took the opportunity to roll his eyes before the Supreme noticed. 

“That’s no concern. It’s Stephen, of course he’ll notice. Besides, he always learned best when watching you. Might be wise to return to that mentoring role. ”

“I don’t think he’ll allow that.”

Mordo spoke the words as if he believed it, his eyes suddenly revealing a rare glimpse of pain. The moment wasn’t lost to Wong.

“You’re the Sorcerer Supreme. You’ll find a way.” The librarian reached out and briefly touched Mordo’s shoulder, his voice offering kindness again. 

The Ancient One had a habit of doing just that, back when her successor was a simple student who needed encouragement and guidance. It was to Mordo’s horror that he realized how much more he needed it now. How much he took those small moments for granted. How much he missed, hated, and loved her all at once. 

“I can never get used to this. Every time I hear that title it feels wrong. As if I stole it.”

“You earned it. Don’t mistake this title for another from your past. No one can take this away.”

“Is it wrong for me to fear it?”

“And what exactly is this fear?” Wong asked, “You seem to keep many but acknowledge very few.”

“That I will fail and disgrace the title of Supreme.”

Mordo closed his eyes and allowed himself to at last feel without filter.

“The masters have given me the same conclusion. I must find a way into Stephen’s dreams.”

“His nightmares,” Wong said, eyes wide, understanding immediately.

“I suspected by the intensity of his dreams and by the presence of his wounds that it was Nightmare’s work. And now those fears seem confirmed. He’s chosen Stephen as his new favorite.”

“Of course. Though why Nightmare would have this sudden interest in Strange is...well, strange. What did they suggest?”

“Several suggested using my astral form to enter the dream dimension, as the Ancient One did flawlessly when she had to confront Nightmare in the past. But that takes advanced magic and lifetimes to perfect. And I don’t have the time for it, nor a skilled enough teacher.”

Wong nodded. The practice of using one form to enter a completely different dimension was tricky, even for the most talented practitioners. And he had no interest in electing a new Supreme should something go awry, much less grieve the loss of another friend.

“There are others ways. Ones more akin to natural law,” Wong suggested. “We could find his soulmate.”

Mordo’s eyes hardened. His mouth fell into a tight line. 

“Soulmates don’t exist.”

It was an old conversation they were doomed to repeat. 

“Stephen didn’t even believe in spirit or the power of belief when he first arrived. Yet he quickly found how wrong he was. You taught him that. Would you disregard this possibility?”

“Even if we did find this hypothetical soulmate what could they do against Nightmare? That monster would just torment them both,” Mordo said. “I will not have that on my hands.”

“So what other option do we have?” Wong asked. “Abandon him to that vile creature? The only other option I see is the dream binding ritual but that’s--”

“Forbidden,” Mordo said. 

“Disastrous,” Wong continued. “You’ll need at least seven veteran masters to even attempt to open a doorway to Nightmare’s dimension without having his minions spill into the tangible world. Then there’s the task of actually getting Stephen back.”

“I understand better than most the risks of confronting Nightmare with such an unstable ritual. I’ve seen it before firsthand.”

This was, for a change, something Wong was surprised to hear. There was an unexpected change in Mordo’s countenance. The stern, unyielding steel within his eyes disappeared for a moment. 

“A failed ritual would mean probable death for both of us,” Mordo continued. “Should we survive, Stephen and I could sustain immense mental and spiritual injury, and if the damage is severe enough the physical body will follow. I’m not sure if Stephen would even agree to it.”

“As you said, the ritual is forbidden. So why does it sound like you’re considering it?”

A quick flicker of painful memories softened the Sorcerer Supreme’s gaze. Then at once, that too vanished, buried again by his determination to distance himself from a past he desperately wanted to forget. 

“I--I need time to think this through.”

Wong’s tired eyes followed Mordo as his friend quickly escaped into the courtyard. He then turned his gaze towards the master chamber, where Stephen was hopefully resting at last.

He should have told Mordo he was running the wrong way. 

_______________________________________

 

The night was infinite and lonely. A soft rustle of wind swept through the air with a cutting chill, reminding him all too much of the comfort of his own room and how lovely it would be to enjoy the warmth. If only it wasn’t currently being occupied by the unsettled doctor. 

Mordo cursed beneath his breath. He paced the courtyard countless times but he was far from fading. The temptation to run to another place only grew with each step. It would be easy to create a portal. Run away. Forget this place as he had done with other places he once called home. He could entrust the title of Sorcerer Supreme to someone else, another master who could explore the possibilities he didn’t even want to consider. How easy it would be to vanish…

It would have been even easier if he left long ago. He nearly did, back when the Eye was used to strong-arm Dormammu into sparing the Earth. Thinking back on it he felt the anger returning, boiling beneath his skin and hardening his heart with pain. 

He should have left. 

And yet he didn’t. 

Even now he couldn’t bring himself to actually take those fateful steps to leave Kamar-Taj forever. 

It was here that his spirit was repaired from wounds he hadn’t realized he carried. Within these walls he found mentors that treated him with more kindness than his own flesh and blood ever did. Here he learned he could be both strong and good, that compassion wasn’t weakness, and that there was power in belief and spirit. Here he found renewal and salvation, freedom and law, direction and purpose. 

It wasn’t merely magic or the promise of more power that kept him bound to this place. It was the evenings spent over warm tea, old books and mischievous relics. It was the librarian who would berate you one moment only to encourage you the next. It was the students and the masters, teaching and learning from each other in ways no one expected. It was in the very spirit of their foundation, in the energies filling the air and spilling around them. It was the compassion, acceptance and warmth that he’d been denied of much of his life. 

Kamar-Taj was home, as he now understood a true home to be, and the rest of the world felt terribly cold in its light. And he had to admit that she had been part of that home too. She was integral to it. And her absence hurt him as deeply as her betrayal. 

His throat tightened. Heaviness gripped his chest. 

The first drops of rain fell quietly on the empty ground. The smell was fresh, cleansing and pure upon the earth.

He recalled walking through harsher rain the first time he tried to find this place. He was wild and young back then, filled with so much hate it was a wonder his heart didn’t burst from it. 

And in spite of his bitter history, she still took him in. She taught him there were ways to practice magic without sacrificing one’s humanity. She lessened the hatred within and replaced it with the cruel hope that his future could be brighter than his past. 

Now she was dead. There would be no miracles to bring her back. 

A deplorable, wretched, feeling overcame him. He allowed himself to admit just how powerless he felt at the moment, without a guide to show him the right thing to do. His doubts were effectively crippling him. 

Would he know how to lead them? How could he be sure? Why did this have to happen? Why did she have to die?

He hated her immensely, and that hated was only matched by how greatly he still loved and missed her. Now her title was now his. Her burden, his inheritance. And all those conflicting, painful truths melted into a singular ache within his heart. 

Forgiveness was far from his mind. But now he began to understand, even just a bit, of what she endured to uphold her duties as Sorcerer Supreme. What she must have sacrificed in her countless years, the compromises and quiet suffering no one else would ever truly know. 

In the distance the low rumble of thunder echoed in the darkness. He left the courtyard as the gentle rain grew heavier, the stars veiled by the sudden storm. He entered through the ornate doors, passing quickly along the halls that lead to his chambers--to Stephen. 

Fear and uncertainty twisted within his racing heart. 

The bill comes due. He’d been saying it all along. Though now it sounded more ominous, dreadful with the weight those words carried. 

Undergoing a forbidden ritual would destroy him, ruining the image of himself as a unflinching, unyielding protector of natural law. 

Those years of training, healing, and adhering to established natural laws would be forfeit the moment he agreed to the ritual. There wasn’t even a guarantee of success. It would be a gamble for their lives with only a slim chance that they would both survive. 

But Stephen’s life depended on it. And for some infuriating reason, that was enough. Yes, the bill comes due. And it terrified him to realize just how much he was willing to pay. 

________________________________

 

“Is it your turn now?” Stephen’s eyes were half opened, red from exhaustion and tears. He was curled on the bed, his lanky arms folded against his chest. The room was dim, damp, covered with an unusual chill. A few candles were littered about, soft yellow and flickering in the darkness.

“There will be no more masters tonight,” Mordo said. “Just me.”

There was a pleasant, fragrant aroma filling the air. Stephen sat up, shifting back to make room as the Sorcerer Supreme sat by the bedside. 

“You must be hungry.”

Stephen’s stomach growled in response. Mordo had brought him a small bowl of congee and after three nights of barely eating anything the humble meal looked absolutely divine. He stared at the spoon, curling his shaking fingers as he tried to recite a simple spell to help him eat. 

“I got it,” Mordo said. He flicked away Stephen’s weak attempt at a spell. “This ordeal has taken a toll on your magic. Conserve your energy. You’ll need it.”

“Karl, I’m not an invalid.” 

“This is hardly the time for pride.” Mordo brought a spoonful of the porridge up to Stephen’s lips. They were still bruised from when he bit him three days ago. 

“Oh this sounds like the perfect time for pride,” Stephen grumbled. He took the bite anyways. His eyes lit up from the savory taste. 

“No one else can know about this,” Stephen warned. “Especially Beyonce. He’d never let me live it down.”

“I make no promises,” Mordo smiled and filled the spoon again. 

Stephen ate slowly, barely meeting his host’s eyes out of embarrassment. He was halfway done with the meal when he spoke again. 

“When can I go back home?”

“Once we’ve severed this entity’s access to your dreams,” Mordo replied. “Until then you will not resume your duties as Master of the New York Sanctum.”

The Supreme placed the bowl down on the table. He took a deep breath to further explain. Stephen interrupted him before he even started. 

“It’s something called Nightmare right? Some kind of demonic force? I read up on him between those wonderful visits from our colleagues. Not a very humorous bunch are they? Said something about me being doomed. Nothing unexpected at all really.”

“There are ways to help you Stephen, if you would allow it.”

“Look, I know I was wrong about spirit and belief and--” Stephen waved a hand around the air, “All of this. But soulmates? I laughed those masters right out of the room..”

“At last we agree on something.” Mordo chuckled. “It’s an archaic belief.”

“I’m not to keen on any of the other suggestions they had either. And there’s no way in hell you’d ever approve dream binding.”

“What if I did?” Mordo asked.

Stephen’s tired eyes turned bright with surprise. His dark hair had grown long lately, curling at the ends and making his pale face appear much younger than he was. 

“I won’t have anyone going into my head Karl. I’ve read the books.” The doctor’s voice was brittle now, “Can’t I even have my own thoughts to myself anymore?”

“It’s not about you.”

Stephen’s body withdrew in response, as if the words repelled him. 

“You sound like her,”

There was no need to clarify who he meant. 

“Does that comfort you?”

“Not sure,” The doctor replied, “It’s just really bizarre. She said exactly that before she died. Said she saw infinite possibilities that all ended with me by her side. Sounded like neither of us had a choice. Fate I guess. Though why she had to share that with me I’ll never know.”

Mordo listened intently. Stephen barely spoke of those final moments with her. 

“Heavy words to leave someone with. Was I supposed to do something with that?”

“Perhaps it’s one last mystery for you to solve, a final lesson. It would be like her to do so.”

Stephen shrugged weakly at the reply. His hand shook as tried to adjust the poor excuse for a robe he was given. It was loose fitting and resembled a hospital gown, fashioned to be easily removable during examinations. The fabric slipped, revealing bruises of every stage upon the doctor’s abused skin. Stephen immediately pushed the robe back into place, his face suddenly pink and burning. 

“May I?” Mordo reached out, guiding Stephen to lean forward. His steady fingers found the ties that had come apart around the doctor’s shoulders. He tied them carefully, mindful to avoid touching the injured man’s skin. 

“No offense,” Stephen said as Mordo fixed the robe, “But can we also agree that this would be so much easier if she was here?” 

“Yes, and I most likely won’t be here. Her lies were too similar to something else I’ve experienced. I thought I escaped it when I came to this place. It broke my heart to know that lies festered here too. And that laws could be broken.”

As he finished he quickly drew his hands away from Stephen. Too quick perhaps to be careful, for he accidentally brushed a finger against Stephen’s neck. The doctor shuddered. Mordo turned away. 

“You don’t have to break anything for my sake,” Stephen said. “This is already asking too much from you. I’ll find someone else to help me.”

“There is no other way, at least any that can help you in time.” 

Mordo took Stephen’s hands, surprising himself with the bold move. The unexpected tenderness wasn’t lost to the doctor. His eyes flew wide at the touch. And if his hands trembled before it felt like they trembled even more so now. 

“And I can’t ask anyone else to do this. If I fail you then I alone will suffer for it, no one else.”

“But you can’t risk yourself either. You’re the Sorcerer Supreme. They need you now more than ever. I...I can be replaced. I understand that now,” Stephen said. “But you can’t. I won’t let you.”

The doctor’s eyes were bright and wet, and in their depths Mordo saw him once again accepting death. 

“They won’t question it if you allow Nightmare to take me. There’s no master who would ever outright oppose you.”

“Except you, and for that reason alone I cannot lose you.”

Mordo held the shaking hands gently within his own. The differences between them were so striking. Fair and dark. Fragile and strong. Yet they were both scarred, both in need of each other. 

“I don’t want you to see,” Stephen replied. “What he does to me in my dreams. What he makes me relive over and over again--”

His words were cut short as Mordo’s strong, dark hands cupped his face.

“There is nothing there that would shock me or make me think ill of you.”

“You don’t know that,” Stephen’s smile was sad and soft. 

He pulled away from the touch. His Supreme didn’t take offense. Mordo was accustomed to being kept at a distance, and expected it so much that it rarely hurt him anymore. 

“But I do know you,” Stephen said with a odd gentleness, “And if you believe this is for the best, then I trust you.”

“You’re not going to tell me how to help you?” Mordo said, smiling a bit as he awaited for the doctor’s usual retorts. Instead Stephen shook his head.

“No. I--I’ll leave that in your hands.” His brilliant eyes appeared so clear now, as open as a book, bright and vulnerable, “I trust you. I mean it when I say it. ”

This, Mordo did not expect. Though he was glad all the same. 

“This has surprised us both, me most of all if you could imagine that.” Mordo said honestly, “But I’ve been betrayed and abandoned too many times to inflict the same on another. I have many reasons why I protect our laws so strictly, but now I understand that there are greater reasons to break it.”

Mordo was mindful of how he spoke, how his expressions and movements might reveal too much too quickly. He took a measured breath before continuing.

“And that’s to protect you and anyone else who needs me to.”

It was difficult to read Stephen’s face in the darkness, but the chill that permeated the room seemed to lessen. There was a common energy between them now, and Mordo felt it grow warmer the longer he kept his eyes on the doctor. 

“I just gotta get this off my chest,” Stephen said. “Sometimes I think it would have been way better if you just let those thieves beat me up. You know, just left me to wander around until I begged my way back to New York. Seems like a stroll compared to all this. But--but I’m really glad you were there. I’m really glad you’re still here.”

Mordo had so much to say yet the words refuse to come out. He simply looked at Stephen, memorizing every feature and scar, every gesture and sound that composed this chaotic mess of a man. He was fearful of the emotions he felt yet he welcomed each one the same, as if they were old friends he hadn’t realized were terribly missed. 

“Not sure what Sorcerer Supremes do at this hour," Stephen said. “But if you can, you mind staying here for a little while? The nightmares--”

“As you wish,” Mordo did not hesitate. He would have done so without asking. 

It took awhile before the doctor fell asleep. Stephen kept waking up whenever he was close to actual slumber, heart racing and eyes wide. Mordo was patient, whispering reassurance that it would be okay in the end. At first he wasn’t even certain of that. Yet the more he reassured Stephen the more he began to convince himself too. 

When the doctor finally fell asleep Mordo kept watch, fully aware of how tired he was himself yet determined to ensure Stephen was safe. He thought of what Stephen said to him, of his trust and belief in him. And to know that he now had that level of trust strengthened Mordo’ resolve to a stubborn, unfaltering degree. 

An hour passed before Stephen stirred in his sleep. Restless he twisted and turned, face scowling and tight. Mordo quickly leaned down. His first instinct was to wake him but before he could Stephen turned, reached out, and grabbed his hand. Their fingers intertwined. Calmness swept through Stephen’s face. His eyes closed and relaxed.

Mordo allowed Stephen to cling to his hand, an unexpected anchor in his fitful sleep. Even when the doctor’s movements settled and stilled, Mordo did not pull away. 

The Sorcerer Supreme fell asleep soon after, his last conscious thought reflecting on the rare and wonderful peace between them. 

Their hands remained together as the tangible world faded away, giving way to another darker realm. Both of them were unaware of the evil fast approaching. 

And no one, not even Nightmare, ever saw the light which ignited between those interlocked hands. There was no witness to see the bright, vibrant glow as lifeline met lifeline, and soul met soul, intertwining into a single red string that would soon be vigorously tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay so this is getting much longer than anticipated. My poor keyboard is broken so forgive the crawl, I'm doing my best to update I promise ;__; Feedback is super welcome! Please leave a review, it breathes life into work. Long live this pairing ^_^


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to give credit to boys will be (kissing) boys for recommending  
> comicvine. It was super helpful in getting a bit more info on lore! The glorious meta posts by Botany Cameos were an absolute joy to read. Most of Mordo’s backstory in this fic blossomed from those meta posts, so many thanks to Botany Cameos for that :D Links to the posts can be found at the end notes for the chapter so please check them out. Also forgive my typos, keyboard still broken.

A silver cloud wrapped around a red moon, like a phantom hand grasping an exposed heart. And the scarlet vessel burst at the touch, screaming and spilling into the lonely earth. 

 

Whether it was oil or blood, or both, Mordo couldn't tell. He only knew that it clung to him, sick and ever changing, at one moment vicious and the next slippery and wet. With the dying moon, darkness swept like an awful flood through the landscape.  He sank in the seemingly infinite void, engulfed and suffocated not by fear but by sheer isolation. 

 

Then an old song, faint and sad called to him. One second, it came from the distance. The next it was right beside him, as close as his own breath. The tune was familiar, fragile and sweet, slipping from the strings of a weary violin. The musician’s fingers were calloused and numb from practice. Yet they kept playing, well aware of the consequences should a single note be missed. 

 

_ “My darling, you changed the melody again.”  _

 

A woman’s voice spoke with such tenderness it made her poisonous words easier to swallow. 

 

_ “Play it again exactly as you were taught. Your grandfather will know otherwise.” _

 

It was instinct that made him flinch. He braced himself and waited for the sudden burning strike on his hands.

 

_ “And you know how much he detests imperfection.”  _

 

His fingers dug into the center of his palms. He wasn’t a child anymore. Often he wondered if he ever was. That scared, imperfect, little boy changed quickly under his mother’s guidance, turning him to a regimented soldier. 

 

She killed the child to bring out the warrior. He once believed, with sick sincerity, that she did it out of love. And it broke his heart again, knowing now that she probably never loved him at all. 

 

“Nightmare, show yourself!” Mordo yelled, trying to drown out the memory of her voice “I know this is your doing. Reveal yourself to me!”

 

His mother’s whispers faded into something much deeper. Her sweet voice morphed to a low, amused laugh. The sound was thick, permeating the darkness around him. 

 

He was suddenly knee deep in water. Rain fell like silver tendrils from a smoky sky. Mordo didn’t recognize this place. But the voice that screamed for him...he would know that anywhere.

 

“Mordo!”

 

“Stephen?” Mordo restrained himself for moment, weary of Nightmare’s plans. The entity loved to play with his victims, preferring to combine nourishment and entertainment. Stephen would be the perfect bait to lure him in. 

 

A quiet, comforting warmth spread from the center of his left hand. Mordo watched with wide eyes as his palm glowed. The lines etched on his skin lifted from him, golden and bright. It was strange to see the lines of his palm hovering before him like a shield against the darkness of Nightmare’ realm. It was even stranger to see those lines twisting around each other into threads of light forming a brilliant red cord. 

 

“No. This cannot be,” Mordo’s breathing hastened. “This is another trick. Another illusion. ”

 

He’d read about this once, long ago when Wong was trying to prove a point that soulmates did in fact exist. That was years ago and the book was ancient and tattered. He dismissed it as myth, something to give foolish, lonely souls a bit of hope that there was another being out there for them. He recalled the crude sketchings on the book, depicting images of palms and lifelines coming together to reveal the infamous red string. 

 

“This isn’t real. Not for me,” Mordo said even as his fingers wound around the red cord. His chest was tight, as if it would guard his heart from feeling that awful thing called hope. The string was slim, wispy, yet it was also unnaturally solid for something in this dimension. It was tangible, warm, comforting, and everything else that didn’t belong in Nightmare’s realm. 

 

His end of the string wrapped around his wrist, secured on his body like an extended vein. 

 

The red string was flickering, light radiating with each steady beat. Dread fell on Mordo when he realized it mirrored the beat of his own heart. 

 

“Stop! Mordo!” 

 

The Sorcerer Supreme  felt Stephen’s terror before he even heard his scream. The horrible sensation traveled through the string at a wicked speed, striking him through the chest as if he suffered Stephen’s pain himself. 

 

Anger, instant and unrestrained, consumed him. Mordo’s fingers wrapped around the cord and ran, following the path illuminated by the ancient magic. 

 

The realm was shifting rapidly around him. The ground beneath him splintered, erupting a thousand ways to form forests and rocks. The immense shadow above him warped into a hazy, inky night with a smudge of grey for a moon. And through every twist and illusion, the only constant was the red string. The pulse was frantic, fierce with Stephen’s panic and his own rage.

 

The winding, wispy trail of red lead him deeper into a lake. Perhaps a river. There was something there in the water, something mangled, smoky, and grey. Something pulled him forward, but the force didn’t come from anything within the string itself, but rather by whatever was on the other end. Someone was trying to get to him as well, and they were weak.

 

Mordo stopped as he realized the wreck before him. It was a car, damaged beyond repair from a freak accident. A momentary lapse of judgement as Stephen tried to explain once. 

 

“No,” Mordo fell into the water, struggling against an unseen tide. “Stephen please--”

 

_ “Begging doesn’t suit you. But it certainly fits perfectly for him. He does it so well. If only you could hear it.” _

 

Mordo kept going until he finally reached the wreckage. His eyes burned to see Stephen trapped inside, the doctor’s form still and unresponsive to his pleas to wake up. His hands were crushed from the accident, bleeding and devastated beyond repair.  He reached out to where the red string wrapped around Stephen’s wrist, carefully tracing the tendrils of gold and scarlet. 

 

To his relief he easily pulled the doctor’s damaged hands away. The car melted against the whispery light that danced along the cord between them. Within seconds Nightmare’s illusion dissolved, releasing Stephen right onto Mordo’s arms.

 

Something snapped in the air, as if a lock had been smashed. Stephen winced. His eyes opened wide, shocked and shaking from the ordeal. 

 

“Please--please make this stop-” Stephen swallowed his next words. His breathing was ragged and short, barely filling him. 

 

“Easy. Slow down and breathe. Breathe with me,” Mordo instructed, trying to keep himself in check as to not panic Stephen further. He reached up and cupped the doctor’s face, the signature beard pleasantly rough beneath his fingers. 

 

Stephen held onto  Mordo’s arms as best as his quivering hands would allow. He followed his teacher’s breathing pattern, guiding both their breaths back into a semi-normal state. 

 

There was a moment of calm between them, one that Mordo feared would shatter too soon.  He took Stephen’s injured hands and kissed them gently without any thought of the consequences. His doctor was wonderfully tangible, real, and most of all alive. The red string shone brighter at the touch. 

 

Stephen could only stare in surprise. His startled skin tingled at the feel of Mordo’s lips on him. His lips were parted, for once robbed of anything to say.  And through the red string Mordo felt Stephen’s heartbeat mirroring his own til he couldn’t tell them apart any longer. This singular heartbeat they shared felt heavier, more alive, more complete. 

 

“Is this part of the ritual?” Stephen asked once he got he chance to turn his right palm up. His confused gaze followed the string between them.  “I read that dream binding spell until the very end, warnings and everything. It never mentioned any of this.” 

 

“There was no ritual,” Mordo started, wondering how best to tell Stephen the fate which had befallen them. 

 

“Then how are you here in my dreams?”

 

Before Mordo’s carefully measured explanation could start he felt Stephen slowly pulling away from him. 

 

“I’m not Nightmare if that’s what you fear.” Mordo quickly stepped forward, trying to reassure his soulmate that he was safe. “Surely you can see that.”

 

“I thought I did!” Stephen snapped, eyes blazing and fixated on him, “All those other times you appeared. But I was wrong. So wrong. Please take another form. I’ll take anything else. ”

 

Stephen suddenly jerked away from him, nearly stumbling in his haste to put distance between them. 

 

“Be someone else. Kaecillius. Dormammu. Not Mordo. Please. Please-”

 

The dread that settled within Mordo as he heard those words quickly rolled into a seething rage. He kept it locked within himself though, wanting to spare Stephen anymore distress through their bond. And that’s if Stephen could even sense what was going through the red string at all given his weakened state. 

 

“He hurt you,” Mordo said, “Using my image?”

 

Stephen couldn’t look at him anymore. The wordless response was clear enough for Mordo. 

 

“You don’t have to believe me if you’re afraid of me,” Mordo said. It pained him to say it but he did for Stephen’s sake. “Just promise yourself to wait this out. Every dream ends. Even nightmares.”

 

“I’m too far. I’ll never wake up. ” Stephen replied, the defeat of his spirit cracked his voice, “I’m trapped here.”

 

“Someone in our dimension is bound to notice. Especially with so many masters aware of your situation. I have no doubt that Cloak of yours may be trying to find help even now. It hasn’t failed you yet.”

 

Mentioning the Cloak seemed to draw Stephen back to him.  The doctor looked at him earnestly, as if looking for further proof that he truly was who he claimed to be. 

 

“We will escape this realm together, whether by another’s help or through our own means. I’m not leaving you. Can’t you see this?” Mordo said, touching the red string, hoping that Stephen could feel what he did.

 

“Barely,” Stephen said. “It comes and goes. What does it mean?”

 

Before he could answer the world around them shifted, abruptly cycling and sliding like broken pieces of rusted metal. Laughter, low and deep, rained down. 

 

_ “It means I’ve stumbled upon a most wonderful surprise.” _

 

Mordo’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed Stephen, standing between him and the terrible figure fast approaching. Had his relics been with him he would have unleashed their power while the entity was still aways off, giving Stephen some time to run. But disadvantage seemed to be a familiar companion as of late. 

 

“No matter what happens believe in nothing except this,” Mordo tugged on the string. “Don’t ever lose sight of it. The red string is the only thing here that’s real and that anchors us.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Stephen said. “For thinking you were him.”

 

“You don’t need to be.” Mordo replied, sincerity in every word. 

 

He took Stephen’s hand, connecting their palms and fingers together. The steadiness of one seemed to calm the other, while the trembling hand gave the stronger one a reason to hold on to him even tighter. 

 

_ “So endearing.”  _

 

A vague shape crept towards them. Generously it took its time, morphing from one shape to the next til it finally started to create the recognizable outline of a skeleton. Piles of shadow clung to him with every step he took towards the red string, giving him shape and substance. Soon there was flesh, or at least something that resembled it. Hungry green eyes peered from his shrouded face. The inhuman gaze followed the movements of the two sorcerers, evaluating every glance and intake of breath. 

 

To show fear was to reveal weakness. To reveal weakness was to grant someone power over you. And between Mordo and Strange? The weaknesses were rampant. Nightmare only had to expose it. 

 

_ “The viscount always prepared the best feasts.” _

 

Stephen cringed as the words fell on against his neck like an unwelcome kiss. Nightmare’s phantom hand brushed the doctor’s bruised cheek. 

 

_ “Now here you are with someone so irresistibly, delectably sweet.” _

 

The space between them crackled in a sharp flash. Nightmare’s presence retreated with a maddened growl as Mordo struck him. The spell would have been more than enough to kill any human outside of this dimension, and to Nightmare it should have been nothing more than harmless vapor. Yet it stung. It pierced and ripped through him, his grisly form splintering from the where the spell hit him. 

 

_ “Always so violent. Is that a way to greet an old family friend? Dearest Sara would be so disappointed.” _

 

Nightmare merely laughed even as his form fell apart, pieces of him reassembling themselves fracture by fracture. 

 

_ “She taught you better. She misses you so.” _

 

“Your words are nothing but poison.” Mordo closed his eyes and tried to shake off the sound of his mother’s voice. 

 

Somewhere Stephen was calling for him, asking him something, touching him. But he felt so distant now, nearly unreal. 

 

He could barely hear his soulmate beneath the voices reaching out for him. Voices silenced long ago now echoed in cycles, their timbre calm, soft, and terribly intimate.

 

_ “My words come from the truth. This entire realm comes from the truth! It reveals and relishes in your doubt and failures. Every deplorable fantasy, each brutal thought within humanity finds nourishment here. Mankind created me from the pain they inflict on each other and themselves. There is no torture here that hasn’t come from somewhere inside you. And even now you foolishly try to fight it. And for what?” _

 

Mordo hissed as the soulmark on his palm burned, the pain infernal and seeping into his flesh.

 

_ “For the love of a man who will never accept you? As his leader, lover, or anything else?” _

 

“It matters not,” Mordo spat out. “My only concern is keeping him away from you!”

 

Nightmare crept closer, his gaze engrossed by the telling mark on the sorcerer’s palm. 

 

_ “Since when did you learn to lie, Mordo?”  _

 

The entity’s laughter mingled with the sound of his grandfather’s own. 

 

_ “Did the Ancient One teach you?” _

 

Mordo felt lighter, unanchored, drifting further away. 

 

_ “No one can hope to retrieve a soul I’ve claimed. He was mine before this accursed thing even formed.” _

 

Nightmare’s long, pale fingers haunted the surface of the red string. The cord hovered lose and dim, faintly shining, it’s brilliance now shrouded.

 

_ “And this Doctor Strange carries pain so beautifully. Especially when I inflict it through you. Do you even know where he is now? Or have you been so absorbed in your own doubts that you can’t even see him sinking in the shadow? A remarkable thing, how the simple sound of your family’s voice can render you a child again.” _

 

Mordo tried to focus on the pain on his palm. It kept him alert, mercifully aware that the bond he shared with Stephen was still there, even though he could barely see his soulmate in the haze of memories that rushed him. Should Stephen hear and see what he did, any future Mordo hoped to share with him was as good as lost. 

 

_ “There was only one amongst you who could have tried to challenge me,” _ Nightmare smiled, the grimace sick with glee,  _ “But she is dead, her protection spells as harmless as ashes. Now she leaves me a world to torment.” _

 

“Yes, she is gone.” Mordo said. “But her successor stands before you.”

 

He opened his palm, bearing the mark openly for the entity to see.

 

“And you will quickly find I’m not as forgiving.”

 

Nightmare walked around the Sorcerer Supreme , ever watchful of the soulmark still laying on his palm like a flame. 

 

_ “Forgiveness was never in your nature, Baron Mordo.” _

 

The sorcerer rejected that title long ago, along with the family legacy that came with it. To hear it again twisted the pit of his stomach. 

 

_ “You were fashioned from cruelty and violence. A weapon planned for years, meticulously crafted and forged by expert hands.  _

 

Fire, not from the mark on his palm, but from a memory long ago flashed hot and white before his eyes. Fire upon stone, blood upon blade, blade against heart. A final, curling scream in an infinite night. Dirt and grit under his fingernails, the taste of blood in his mouth, smoke in his lungs. 

 

_ “The darkest horrors of humanity are written in every thread of who you are. That is your true inheritance. There is no title, no magic, and no soulmate that can ever overcome that.” _

 

“Do not underestimate what Stephen can do. He’s defeated stronger entities than you!” Mordo said. He held tight to the flickering string. The absence of Stephen’s voice was deafening. 

 

_ “I know exactly what your precious little soulmate can do. Even more so than you. He will submit willingly to me once he sees you as you really are, Baron Mordo.” _

 

Nightmare laughed as the world melted around them, instantly taking the fire, smoke, and blood with it. 

 

_ “Red strings can be severed. Your dear doctor will prove it. He’ll cut the string and rip the heart right out of you to spare himself the fate of being yours. Unless you cut it first. Are you capable of such mercy?” _

 

“If it saves him in the end then let it be done,” Mordo’s chest felt heavier than it ever had before. The thought of forever losing Stephen blossomed into a palpable grief, as coarse and heavy as a grindstone tied to his heart. 

 

The Sorcerer Supreme  turned his eyes towards Nightmare.

 

“If it’s an exchange you require then allow me to take his place. Just release him. Feed from my pain instead but spare him.” 

 

_ “The Ancient One would be disappointed at how carelessly her successor leads. Your failure will guarantee my infamy. To have a Sorcerer Supreme  as my prisoner would give me access to your world at a level unseen before. But that would be too easy. And easy things are never satisfying.” _

 

“Then what would you have me do?” 

 

The entity smiled. They were at his mercy, a ripe meal ready to be devoured. 

 

_ “I’m not without mercy. You may still have your happy ending. Simply convince your soulmate to follow you there. Convince him to awake with you and he will be free of my curse. But when he chooses to stay, and he will, both of your souls will be mine to torment as I please.” _

 

Nightmare spoke with the candor of someone who already decided the winner of a game still yet to be played.

 

With a sweep of his arm the darkness fled. Silvery clouds blotted out an amber sky. A vast field crawled beneath them. An old wooden farmhouse stood alone in the field, a solitary island in a sea of grass and mud.  The sun was deceptively warm. The air was clean and crisp from fresh rain. There was faint music floating towards them from the house. The notes were hesitant and graceless, brought forth by a child just learning how to touch a piano. 

 

The red string pulsed softly with the melody. Mordo followed the string’s path towards the farmhouse. He stopped at the door. There was laughter inside, genuine and light. Voices of children singing and giggling as the tune carried on. 

 

_ “I want to see your face when he realizes that living in my realm is a kinder fate than being the soulmate of a monster. I want to feel his heart beating in my hands. It’ll be safer there than it ever was with you.” _

 

The door opened to a small room. There were two children sitting before the piano. The smaller one, a girl in blue dress. The older one, a boy with brilliant blue eyes. The boy patiently guided his sister’s hands over the keys. His hands were steady, unbroken, as pure as porcelain. She followed his instructions like a sweet little sister should, her eyes bright and full of innocent adoration for him.  

 

_ “I’ve fantasized what it would be like to have soulmates as my prisoners. To think, an eternal source of suffering and grief. To be in the same dimension, so close, only to take that joy from them.” _

 

“Stephen?”

 

His soulmate appeared beside the two children, eyes wet from tears. The doctor knelt down to stare at the happy little girl, reaching out to touch her hands again. 

 

“Stephen-”

 

Mordo’s plea was drowned out by the little girl’s music. Stephen watched her as if he was caught in a spell. He was completely entranced by the memory of her. He kept his eyes on the fragile illusion, as if she would turn to vapor if he looked away even for a second. 

 

_ “But now I find the idea of you constantly chasing your soulmate much more gratifying. Especially when he rejects you over and over again. It would be enough to break any heart. Even one as unworthy as yours.”  _

 

TBC

 

A/N: I just had to get an update out. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing most of the time but that’s where you come in to leave me feedback and reign me in, so please let me know how I can improve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks again to Botany Cameos for sharing these amazing meta posts! They heavily influenced Mordo in this particular story so a million thanks for the inspiration!
> 
> http://botanycameos.tumblr.com/post/155705491788/if-anyone-ever-wondered-why-mordo-turned-out-as-he
> 
> http://botanycameos.tumblr.com/post/155216234218/baron-karl-mordo-meta-mcu
> 
> Also I have a tumblr where I hoard strordo stuff. Feel free to help me paddle this precious canoe. Visit me at https://mianmimi.tumblr.com/ We can all cry over these two together.


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